Grief, horror, tender
sympathy, and utter helplessness, striving together; there was
nothing for me at that moment but the woman's refuge and the
child's remedy of weeping. But the weeping was so bitter, so
violent, and so uncontrollable that the women were frightened.
I believe they shut the doors, to keep the sound of my sobs
from reaching other ears; for when I recovered the use of my
senses I saw that they were closed.
The certain strange relief which tears do bring, they gave to
me. I cannot tell why. My pain was not changed, my
helplessness was not done away; yet at least I had washed my
causes of sorrow in a flood of heart drops, and cleansed them
so somehow from any personal stain. Rather, I was perfectly
exhausted. The women put me to bed, as soon as I would let
them; and Margaret whispered an earnest, "Do, don't, Miss
Daisy, don't say nothin' about the prayer-meetin'!" — I shook
my head; I knew better than to say anything about it.
All the better not to betray them, and myself, I shut my eyes,
and tried to let my face grow quiet.
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